With his reality skewed, he had no destination. He wandered Central Street and kept pace with the bustling festival crowds.
A virus-like bit of information kept looping in his processor. Ionia didn’t want him. His companion droid protocol instructed him to leave and deactivate himself, but he was a freed droid and had a choice in the matter. He could have stayed against her wishes, but she didn’t want him. Didn’t know that his feelings were valid. Pain ions sent streams through his sensors, and he cursed the makers for the 8012th time. He enjoyed the happiness and love and joy that the emotional chip supplied, but this—this was unbearable.
The worst thought process was the never ending question. Why? Why had she sent him away?
Her mental state had deteriorated so quickly. Her mood had been much more unsteady since their experience in the cave with Feinstein.
Den had died there. Died so that Ionia could do what she needed so she could be safe. He’d been everything a good companion droid should be. He had given his very life for her. Yet she turned him away. On an impulse.
Another sensation moved in, replacing the pain.
Anger. Anger at Ionia, which was not acceptable. She was distraught, and he needed to understand. Maybe once she had dealt with whatever her family had done, then she would contact him.
But until she came to her senses, he had nowhere to go in a hostile world.
His sensors detected an impending weather change, and seconds later the pressure hit optimum, for thunder and precipitation began in a cloudburst. The pedestrians scattered to find shelter.
He continued walking at the exact same pace. Water could not injure him. And he had no goals. No path. No place to go. The endless loop began again. He passed a holo poster and stopped.
The poster showing a droid in a fight dome as they had witnessed earlier in the square. A vidclip showing destruction and cheering crowds.
He read the message embedded in the poster—a message no human eye could see— infrared and backward. It read: Droids, this is your path to freedom from the makers, from blood, from slavery. Find us at the Himalaya Institute, and find yourself. It listed some coordinates, and Den did the calculations. He could reach the Institute by morning.
A recall cell sent him the message from one of Ionia’s first interactions with him. She had DLed large swatches of information into him concerning chivalry, knights, and pageantry. She had been entranced by the fight in the square as well. All her physical symptoms of excitement had been evident.
This display seemed to be a throwback to those days. Perhaps if he located this Institute and joined the games, he could earn his true freedom in the eyes of this society and show Ionia the sincerity of his feelings.
The crushing sensation from Ionia’s dismissal still echoed inside, but another small sprinkle of positive ions combated the negative. He would define it as hope. And this was one emotion he welcomed.
***
It felt like dying. She was definitely dying. No one could endure this much pain and keep living. She tried not to cry, tried not to whimper, tried to ignore the door. ’Cause when she lay very still and blanked her mind, the pain would quiet. But if she moved or thought, the dagger would dig into her chest again. Her heart should have stopped because all the blood should have leaked out. She should be dead. Dead. Dead.
She pulled the blanket up over her head. Something happened last night. It seemed like a nightmare in the light filtering through the thin material. It had all be overwhelming. Her eye, then her mom and aunt’s confession, ground zero of an emotional nuke, and Den had been caught in the backlash.
Why had she sent him away? It had been the clear choice last night. He needed to find out what he really wanted, and she needed to be strong until he returned.
Someone knocked at the door. She squeezed her eyes tight. The place where her eye should be anyway. That may never be again. No Den. No eye. No hope.
Damn.
The door opened, and she could smell her mom, antiseptic, and sandalwood. Weird mix.
“We need to visit another doctor.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Maybe her mom would think she was asleep or dead. Either one would work.
“Ionia, I know you’re awake. Where’s your droid.”
The dagger in her chest morphed into a spear.
“Gone.” She spit out the word like it was coated in poison. She didn’t want to say more. If she said more, she might just lose it, and it would not do to lose it in front of her mom. Her scientist brain wouldn’t understand Ionia’s gooey emotions, especially for Den.
“I’m sure he’ll return soon.”
She didn’t question anymore, and Ionia didn’t bother to tell her that he wasn’t coming back, maybe not ever.
“Get dressed,” her mom said.
She didn’t want to get up and face a shiny new day. Without Den, the brightness felt like a lie, but she knew her mom would persist.
“Fine. I’ll be down in a minute.”
Her mom left, and Ionia threw on a red skirt with bangles, a white tunic, and sandals. She looked almost native. The eyepatch was the only blemish to her appearance. She hated when people stared, but the patch was infinitely better than the raging horror that lay beneath.
She slunk down the stairs. The entire family surrounded the island in the kitchen—the girls, her mom, Aunt Sera, and Ravi.
Ravi.
She felt like punching him in his stupid face.
He’d ruined everything.
If he hadn’t talked about how Den was really a slave, she wouldn’t have felt guilty. He’d taken away her love, her security, her only friend here. She pointedly looked away from them and waited by the door.
“Come and eat, Ionia,” her mom said.
“Not hungry. I’m ready to go.” Her feet shuffled, and she wrung her hands, not wanting to face more questions.
The girls shoveled food into their mouths and were much calmer than the night before, quietly muttering to themselves.
“Where’s your droid?” Aunt Sera asked.
By all holy Asgard and all the Norse gods, why was everyone suddenly so keen on knowing about Den? “Gone.”
“He shouldn’t be out there alone. The patrols have issues with unsupervised droids.” Sera said. “If he doesn’t have orders, they’ll probably just bring him home.”
A real and deep dread grabbed her heart and squeezed. “I set him loose to do what he wants.” She sent a look at Ravi that was designed to melt the flesh from his bones.
Ravi’s eyebrows arched as he leaned away from the table. “He’s free right? He should be able to do what he wants.”
“Not in this territory.” Aunt Sera popped a piece of flatbread slathered in something that smelled spicy into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed before adding. “He’s tagged, so no worries. They’ll bring him here. I gave them my address when he was incarcerated.”
A wave of happy swept Ionia up as high as the space elevator to the International Space Station. Den was coming back for sure. The wave instantly crushed her into the ground.
He’d be returned and be tied to her. Never to be free to explore his interests, to even know if he had any interests. “That isn’t fair.” She pressed her lips together and let her head droop, defeated. “I just hope they don’t hurt him.”
“As long as he complies, they should just deliver him.” She sounded casual, as if they were going to deliver an errant package.
Ravi half-stood, then sat back down when every head turned in his direction. His face flashed angry.
Ionia didn't care why he was mad, she just wanted to go, to get away from their scrutiny and questions. “I’m going outside.”
She didn’t wait for permission. Slamming the door behind her, she ran down the wooden stairs and into the street. An endless flow of people pressed in from all sides, pushing and shoving. The heat surrounded her like a sauna. It was as bad as a reverse Antarctica. Where was the happy medium? She was either in a deep freeze
or in lava. Either ecstatically happy or miserable.
Sweat stains circled her thin tunic, and her underarms grew sticky. Being outside was hot but better than discussing what the future held. What would she even say when Den got back?
Sorry, I don’t have the power to release you.
Drones whined overhead like a wave of hornets honing in on their target. Crapin’ damnation, she’d forgotten all about the coat. She ordered her legs to take her back into the apartment house, but they locked. Her throat closed. Fingers squeezed her neck. Den. Den would help, but she’d sent him away, and now she was weak and out of control and going to die. Feinstein’s face popped into her vision as if he were choking her again. Then her eye—blazing hot, sharp pain. All she could see was ice. Her air passages tightened and closed, and her hands shook.
Someone grabbed her. She fought, jerking away, but they remained firm. “Ionia. Ionia!” They shook her.
The hot air felt cool again. The light was artificial. Not in the cave. Not outdoors either. Her eye focused on the person holding her, supporting her against the wall. Back in her aunt’s house.
Ravi. She shrank away from him, but he kept her in his grip. He was taller than she was and stronger than his skinny frame implied.
“Let me go,” she said.
“What’s wrong with you?” He looked genuinely confused and concerned.
“Nothing. I just forgot something.” Her body felt hot, but she was shivering like she had hypothermia again. She wanted to roll into the fetal position until this ocean of fear stopped crushing her. Why did Ravi have to be here to witness this?
“Why are you shaking?”
“None of your business.” She wiggled her shoulders to try and loosen his grasp, but it just got tighter. She almost looked around for Den. Whenever she was in trouble, he would come. But he wasn’t there, and the ocean pulled her deeper until her breathing came out hard again as if she had just sprinted a three-minute mile.
“Ionia. I’m trying to help.” His eyes looked softer, and his grip loosened. “Calm down. It’ll be all right.” All the mean sarcasm was gone. He seemed sincerely worried about her.
His concern calmed her. Her breathing slowed. She could hear the traffic and the sounds of people in the kitchen. All the ice cave memories faded, and she was back standing awkwardly with Ravi staring at her.
“Everything okay in there?” Aunt Sera’s voice came from the kitchen.
“Fine!” they said together. His smile tilted a bit to the side just like hers.
“We’re leaving soon. Ionia, don’t forget your coat,” her mother said, still clanking dishes.
Ionia felt light-headed, and her face was flushed from the panic attack. She didn’t want them to see her like this. She needed just a minute more to gather herself. “Can you grab my coat from upstairs? And please don’t ask any more questions,” she said to Ravi.
“Not asking questions? That may be a difficult task. It’s what I do.” A small ghost smile played on his lips.
She caught his attempt at lightening the mood and gave a half-hearted snort. “Don’t I know it?”
He whirled and sprinted up the stairs.
Ionia leaned against the door. Her heart almost found its proper rhythm again. She took a deep breath. It wasn’t right or good, but she was going to be so relieved when Den got back.
Ravi was suddenly and inexplicably helpful, but who knew how long that would last?
Maybe she should talk to Den about this weird nanobot situation. He was always able to give her insight. When she couldn’t see, he was her light in dark situations, and he couldn’t get back soon enough.
Chapter Seven
Den detected one military grade anti-missile gun trained on his chest and another at his head. Either could not only destroy him but also a quarter of the mountainside. He ascertained that the individuals knew that those who approached would have scanning capability and were using the guns as a deterrent more than an actual threat. The mountain slide would take out half of their facility. So if it were indeed droids running the complex, it would be illogical to attack.
He approached them with a yellow caution level. A reinforced metal doorway shielded his scanners so he could not extrapolate what may lie on the other side. He stood in front of two mountains joined by a steel door that rose over fifteen meters. He placed his hands in the air within the universal symbol of surrender.
A slit, five-by-ten centimeters at eye level in the door, slid open as he approached. A pair of human looking eyes looked back at him. Without sensors, he had to depend on his enhanced visual receptors. The eyes were made of flesh and blood, but he could not determine who or what they were attached to.
Beware. A masculine voice said. “We are armed and willing to use lethal force. State your business.” The voice was modulated and electronic. He could not pick up anything of the emotion of the speaker. A small sliver of anger raced into his emotional center. So many nuances for picking up emotion as a companion, very little on advanced military techniques. What he wouldn’t trade right now for a laser pistol or some form of physical defense besides his limited martial arts skills.
“I noticed a sign on Singapore Street with instructions. I am here.”
But you are a companion droid. Companions are blood bonded. No way you would come here. Maybe a spy for NAR.
Den’s emotional chip sprayed uneasy blips of panic. This was his only way of ever getting Ionia to believe him, to prove himself worthy.
If a droid resided behind the door, it had to bypassed logic and jumped to conclusions. He needed to correct its faulty assumptions. “I have been given freedom in a society where I am not permitted to be free.” It wasn’t anything he’d desired or planned, but he was, in truth, free. “I wish to make my own decisions, and this is my only avenue.”
The eyes retreated. Den’s sonar picked up mutterings and scuffling of feet. Then the eyes returned.
You have been given false information. Leave the complex. The slit in the door snapped shut.
Intense pain lit up his sensors. What he wouldn’t give to turn them off, to no longer feel this human inspired torture. He was useless, without a way to become useful again. His body took the signal from his emotional chip and slumped forward. It took too much energy to stand upright. Who could he fight? Where could he go? He lacked the creativity to find a different solution. He would stand here looping over possibilities until his processor failed in a hundred years or so, and by then Ionia may be deceased.
The consideration made him concerned. He reached out to the Cortex and found Ionia’s signal. She was upset but still at 100 percent health. All he wanted to do was to return to her side, to hear her voice, to see her gray eyes as she laughed at something he had said or done.
But she had sent him away, and he was alone. With no avenue to continue forward.
Strange moisture sprang into his optical receptors. He hadn’t realized he had the capacity for tears. Perhaps this was an anomaly.
Most companions were never turned out and forgotten, he supposed, so the deep negative emotion segment was omitted from the manual. He allowed the tiny amount of droplets to fall in lines down his cheeks. His emotional center felt strangely relieved. He searched his DL and found the Greek word catharsis. A way of ridding oneself of past pain. Yet, his pain remained.
And he needed to do something about it.
Standing here indulging in negative emotion was not the way he would spend the next hundred years of existence. If he were going to cease to exist, it would be in the midst of attempting to move forward, to find a solution, to seek a path.
He scanned what he could from the outside of the fortress built into the side of the Himalayan foothills. Some of these hills were taller than mountains on other continents. The rises were jagged and unwelcoming, but he had climbed in very similar conditions in Antarctica. There, at least, he had had a safety rope. He did the calculations, found the most climb-friendly spot, and started to ascend.
Stop. Leave this area. You are not welcome. A disembodied voice boomed.
“I want to participate in the games.” He moved up quickly, digging his fingers into the stone when no handgrip was obvious.
We will destroy you.
“I don’t believe you will. If you shoot me, you will destroy your own fortress.” He climbed higher, almost to the top of the steel door.
The gun swiveled and targeted him again. He ignored it as an idle threat. Even if it weren’t idle, ceasing to exist would be better than his current situation.
One more move, and we will shoot.
He reached the top and peered over to find a gathering of droids, thousands—everything from humanoid to cleaning, hovering drones to monstrous mining augers—all in electronic holding rings like the one he’d seen in the square. The sheer volume and variety of the display fascinated him.
A flash of electricity shot through his system, stunning him. His arms locked. With his body immobile, his grip slipped, and he tumbled. His processor fought to stay alert enough to break his fall, but all he knew was darkness and pain and dropping.
***
Doctor number three leaned over Ionia and placed something cold against her gaping socket. With her good eye, she watched his face—old, drawn, the color of sand, compressed in concentration. She waited for it.
The same thing had happened at the last two labs.
“Damn,” he breathed.
And there it was.
He shook his head and stepped back. Muffled voices traded comments just outside the invisible sterile shield.
“Tell me what’s going on.” She rose from the backlit patient table and stared at them with her eye and eyehole. She knew it was unnerving. She couldn’t look at it for long without getting nauseous.
To their credit, none of them looked away or avoided her horrific scrutiny. But they did seem to have forgotten how to speak.
“Can you excuse us, Dr. Hagrid? I would like to speak with my niece.”
Vagabond Souls: The Ionia Chronicles: Book 2 Page 11
